


The Belt

by Josselin



Series: Negotiations [6]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Belts, M/M, Sibling Incest, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 09:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: “The Prince appreciated your gift.”





	The Belt

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the same time as [Negotiations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664902) and after [Brother of Akielos, Brother of Vere](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1107732).
> 
> Thank you to my patient writing advisors Mist and stillwaterseas!

When Laurent returned, Auguste was relaxing on a settee and reading over papers from the spies in Patras. Laurent had read them earlier; he knew they were not interesting, but Auguste liked to keep up on the affairs of the kingdom. His brother had changed into a robe and sleep clothes rather than his court garments, and there was a candle burning next to him.

Laurent went to his knees next to the settee and rested his face against his brother’s leg. Auguste reached a hand over and threaded it through Laurent’s hair. 

“Well?” Auguste set the Patran papers on a side table.

“I secured the grain tariff rate,” Laurent said. 

Auguste’s fingers tightened approvingly in his hair and then tugged slightly. Laurent closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

“Very good,” Auguste said, warmly.

Laurent enjoyed his affection for a moment. Auguste tugged his hair again and Laurent pressed his head against Auguste’s leg like a cat. 

There was no sense putting it off longer. “The Prince of Akielos,” Laurent began. Auguste’s fingers tightened in his hair again, and Auguste must have sensed something in Laurent’s tone, because the grip was no longer affectionate, it was warning. “The Prince appreciated your gift.”

Auguste’s tone was deceptively flat. “What did you say?”

“We are allies with Akielos now,” Laurent said, braced for a blow, anticipating it, looking forward to it. “I’m to tell you that the Crown Prince of Akielos and the Crown Prince of Vere have exchanged gifts as befits the signing of a treaty.”

Auguste’s hand had clenched into a fist. He tugged at Laurent’s hair and Laurent shifted, his head following Auguste’s grasp. “So you’ve turned into his errand boy and his whore?”

Laurent closed his eyes, waiting breathlessly. 

“What do you mean, exchanged gifts?” Auguste said. 

Auguste was apparently not done talking. 

“He fucked me,” said Laurent, craving the impact that he knew was coming. “He spilled inside me and mingled his seed with yours and sent it back as a gift.”

“A gift,” Auguste said, his voice still flat. 

“Do you want to see it?”

“See it,” Auguste echoed.

Laurent didn’t wait for further instruction, and began to undress himself. He had only laced the outer layer of his jacket, coming back from Damen’s side of the keep, so it was quick to remove, and then he pulled off his undershirt. Auguste was watching with his eyes narrowed. Laurent saw Auguste’s eyes catch on way Damen had reddened his nipples by pinching them.

Laurent removed his pants. 

“What is it about that Akielon, Laurent,” Auguste said. “What makes him worth our secrets?” Laurent heard the undertones of his brother’s statement in his voice. _What makes him worth you?”_

“He’s a Prince,” said Laurent.

Auguste scoffed. 

“I like him,” Laurent said. 

“But why,” said Auguste. Laurent had no reason for that. Ancel had coached him on how to play a pet when they visited the inn in disguise, and had told Laurent to size up each man who came in and imagine that they wanted to fuck him. Laurent had looked at Damen--or the Patran trader he had been pretending to be--and had imagined as Ancel had suggested, and something about it had caught his fancy. 

Auguste stood up. Laurent’s breath came a little bit faster. Auguste still had a grasp on Laurent’s hair, and he used that and a hand on his shoulder to manhandle Laurent over the side of the settee, shoving him a bit as he let go of Laurent’s hair. Laurent half-fell, half-bent over the armrest. 

“Put your hands over your head,” Auguste said, and Laurent did. If he tucked them into the side of the cushion he could feel the warmth of where Auguste had been sitting. 

Auguste bent down to the pile of Laurent’s discarded clothing and closed his hand around Laurent’s sword belt. It was empty; Laurent hadn’t been armed when he crossed the keep to visit Damen’s bedroom.

Laurent watched Auguste gather the belt in his hand with a coil of heat forming in his stomach. Was Auguste going to strike him with the belt, he wondered. Auguste had never hit him with anything besides his own open hand, before. A strike with an implement was shameful, for a prince. And it would probably hurt much more than Auguste’s hand. Laurent wanted it desperately.

Auguste began by stroking Laurent’s buttocks with his other hand. He brushed over them lightly. His hand lingered for a moment over the plug that was still inside Laurent, and then he pressed against the plug, lightly. 

“I can’t believe your audacity,” said Auguste. 

“It was your idea.” Laurent only said this to annoy Auguste further. 

“This is my idea, also,” said Auguste, and he struck Laurent hard with the belt. 

Laurent cried out. It felt different than Auguste’s hand. He could feel the stripe of leather across the meat of his buttocks, and it caused him to clench up on the plug still within him, which was an overwhelming sensation just by itself. He relaxed consciously. His skin felt warm and fiery.

“You like this,” Auguste surmised, accurately. “Beaten with a belt like a tawdry pet performance.” Auguste concluded with, “Hold still.”

Laurent intended to hold still, but when he was struck a second time he still found himself curling up against the settee instinctively.

“You’re still proud of what you did with that Akielon,” said Auguste. “And I told you to hold still.” 

“It hurts,” Laurent explained.

“Tell me how it feels. Is it worse than my hand?”

“It’s more intense,” said Laurent. “I already feel as though you might have hit me a dozen times.”

“And my hand isn’t even sore,” said Auguste, as though he were pointing out an advantage. “You love it,” said Auguste. “You should count.”

Laurent wished his brother would get on with it and stop talking. “What should I count to?”

“I’ll tell you when you get there.”

Auguste waited until Laurent was holding still again successfully, and then Laurent heard the belt hit his skin a third time. He managed to flinch less than he had the second time, but it was hard with the plug still inside of him. “Three,” Laurent said, pressing his face against one of the cushions on the settee. 

The air in the rooms of the keep was cool, and the settee was not especially close to the fire, but Laurent’s buttocks felt warm anyway. He felt especially conscious of the three stripes of skin that had already connected with the belt. He was already turned on and excited.

Auguste was talking but Laurent was not paying very much attention. “What must he think of you? Pretending to be a pet--actually being a pet, you took his coin, after all.” Auguste trailed the belt gently over Laurent’s skin and Laurent shuddered. He kept clenching around the plug inside of him and he wanted it out. “Traipsing all over the keep filled with seed like a camp whore.”

Laurent’s skin burned more, the longer that Auguste waited and talked. “Did you hold yourself open for the brute to take you?”

Auguste’s words had become more of a wash over Laurent than specific questions to answer, so he didn’t immediately speak, and then Auguste brought the belt down hard, a fourth time.

Laurent cried out, and curled up on the settee again. He tried to roll away from Auguste, and Auguste bent over to put a hand on his back and push him back down. His eyes were wet and tears were spilling over. “Auguste,” Laurent said. “Take the plug out. Please. Take it--I can’t--”

Auguste pressed him back down against the settee. Laurent clutched at the cushion so hard that his knuckles were turning white. 

“You forgot to count,” said Auguste. 

“Four.”

“I’m not sure it counts if I have to remind you.”

Auguste moved the hand that wasn’t wearing the belt to the plug. Even the feeling of his fingers against it increased the sensation. “Please,” said Laurent. “Please take it out.”

Auguste kept his fingers on the base of the plug. His voice was considering. “If you leave it in,” he said, “I’ll let the last strike count, even though you forgot.” He tapped on the plug lightly and Laurent squirmed. “If you take it out, then I’ll have to repeat it.”

Laurent felt that this was an impossible choice. He had no idea how many strikes Auguste had planned to begin with, how could he assess? 

Auguste felt he was waiting too long. “Or, if I decide, we could leave it in and repeat it--”

“Take it out,” Laurent said.

“Are you certain?” said Auguste. Maybe that meant he should leave it in. Was it over, if Laurent left it in? Maybe Auguste was going to get a salve now, if Laurent just made the right choice. But Laurent wasn’t certain that he could manage another strike with the plug inside of him.

“Yes,” said Laurent. 

Auguste obligingly gripped the base of the plug with his fingers and pulled it gently out of Laurent. 

Laurent gasped. He felt relieved, with it removed, but also open and wet and exposed to the cool air. He had thought, someone, in a mixed up part of his head, that he would hurt less, when the plug was taken out, as though it were what was hurting him, and his buttocks were still inflamed even without the plug inside of him. 

Auguste hit him again. Laurent tried not to curl up too much. “Four,” he said. “It hurts.” 

“Good. You should remember that the next time you’re tempted to fall on the Akielon’s cock.”

Auguste did not wait as long as he had been before the next stroke. Laurent was already so sensitive that he couldn’t stop himself from rolling away again, turning his inflamed backside against the back of the settee protectively.

“Hold still,” Auguste said. “You are making it worse for yourself.”

Laurent realized he’d forgotten to count again. “Five,” he said quickly.

Auguste narrowed his eyes, clearly considering if he was going to accept that.

Laurent rolled back into position obediently, hoping for mercy. 

Auguste stood behind him. Laurent held his breath, waiting. Auguste ran his free hand--the one not holding the belt--along Laurent’s ass. Laurent sucked in a breath at the way his touch burned and bit his tongue against a protest. Auguste’s hand was more tolerable than the belt. 

Auguste seemed fascinated with something related to how Laurent looked from that angle. Laurent tried clenching and then releasing his muscles to try to make the picture more interesting.  
“You’re leaking,” said Auguste.

The plug was out, of course he was. The blows after the plug had come out had caused him to tighten and relax reflexively. Auguste’s hand found his hole and his middle finger slide inside of Laurent. The palm of his hand rested against Laurent’s bruised skin. Laurent tried not to say anything. 

Auguste’s finger moved, within him.

“Can you be good, for me?” said Auguste. “Or are you only compliant for barbarians?” 

“Are you going to hit me again?” said Laurent. 

“If you are good,” Auguste said, “No more.” Auguste stroked his finger inside Laurent again. Laurent shuddered.

“I can be good.”

Auguste slid a second finger within him. Laurent felt almost as red and raw inside as he did on the bruised skin outside. He forced himself not to squirm and to hold still for Auguste’s hand.

Auguste crooked his fingers inside of Laurent. Laurent thought at first that he was seeking to pleasure Laurent and simply not hitting the correct spot, though Auguste surely knew his body better than to have such a problem. Then, Laurent realized that Auguste was trying to scoop seed out of him.

A hot shudder ran through him, and Laurent pressed his head against the cushion. He told himself that he should stay quiet because he had aggravated his brother enough for one day, and then he said, “Did he spill a great deal?”

Auguste tightened his fingers on Laurent’s bruised skin. “You are not being very good.”

“I don’t know if your fingers will reach deep enough to get all of it--”

Auguste removed his hand, and Laurent braced himself. Auguste seemed to hesitate before striking him again. Laurent heard a sound, and flinched preemptively, but it was just Auguste taking a step to the side. “Should I beat it out of you, instead?” Auguste asked, conversationally.

Laurent winced, but his cock twitched. “Use your fingers.” 

“You didn’t think that would work.”

“It will,” said Laurent.

“You are very red,” said Auguste. He still had the same conversational tone. He traced along the red stripes on Laurent’s skin with a light finger. “Show me you are going to cooperate,” he said. “Push it out.”

Laurent could feel his face flush until it was probably the same color that Auguste was tracing. The idea was filthy; he had never done anything like--

Auguste drew his finger in between Laurent’s cheeks and pressed at Laurent’s hole. “I don’t think you are trying very hard.”

Laurent bore down tentatively. He was sore still from everything that had taken place earlier. Auguste fucking him, the plug, Damen taking him without further preparation, the plug again. The way he had clenched at the plug when Auguste had hit him. 

Auguste used his hands to spread Laurent’s cheeks, which involved gripping on the ripened skin. Laurent’s eyes were wet again. “Try harder,” said Auguste.

Laurent bore down again, and then decided to hope for mercy again. “Please use your fingers, Brother,” he tried. He made his tone contrite.

Auguste made an approving noise. 

Laurent turned his head slightly to the side and looked at his brother standing behind him. Auguste was still holding Laurent’s sword belt in one hand, but that hand hung loosely at his side. His gaze was fixed on Laurent, as though the sight of Laurent’s reddened buttocks and dripping hole transfixed him.

Laurent knew that Auguste liked hitting him. Auguste was never reluctant when Laurent provoked him into it, feeling slightly itchy beneath his skin and then annoying his brother until Auguste caught his arm and pulled Laurent across his lap. Sometimes Auguste initiated. Laurent might be reading a book in his favorite window seat in Auguste’s rooms, and Auguste might enter and say, “Laurent, I didn’t like your behavior today,” which, if Laurent had been doing nothing but reading and keeping to himself, was a cue to smirk at Auguste and pointedly ignore him, giving Auguste a pretense to half-drag him across the room and throw him down before he began. And both of them liked the aftermath, when Laurent was trembling on Auguste’s lap, his face still damp, and feeling extra sensitive as Auguste’s fingers spread salve and then snuck within Laurent to prepare him. 

But even given Auguste’s inclinations, which Laurent well knew, he seemed especially transfixed. His other hand was reaching for Laurent, and Laurent felt his touch again. Laurent’s skin was so warm that Auguste’s fingers felt almost cool in contrast, and Laurent shivered slightly at their entrance, and then harder as Auguste crooked them inside of Laurent. 

“Tell me that you like that,” Auguste said. Laurent could hear Auguste breathing heavily.

“Yes, that’s very good,” said Laurent, mindlessly. 

“Tell me you want me to get all of it out of you.”

That was clearly Auguste’s wish and not Laurent’s, but Laurent was so overcome by the sensations that he repeated obediently, “Please get it all out of me.”

Auguste took a step closer to Laurent, dropped the belt to the ground, and there was a pause, and then Laurent could feel his brother’s cock pressing against his backside. Auguste slid along the mess of Laurent’s crack, his hands squeezing at Laurent’s cheeks to create a tighter channel. It was an excruciating pressure on Laurent’s bruised skin. 

“Brother, that hurts,” said Laurent.

“You love it,” Auguste said, sounding far away. 

Laurent squirmed a little bit, and Auguste tightened his grip. Laurent’s cock twitched where it was pressed against the settee. When he squirmed, Laurent could almost generate a pleasing pressure--

Auguste was talking, and Laurent struggled to focus on his voice. “I should have you hold yourself open,” he said, drawing his cock across Laurent’s skin. Laurent whimpered. “And then,” Auguste continued, “I could give you a stripe right here,” he drew a finger down Laurent’s center, vertically, tugging slightly at Laurent’s swollen hole. “That would make a most pleasing pattern.” His voice was rough and uneven. Auguste took in a deep breath. He could hear the slick sound of Auguste’s hand stroking his cock, which made Laurent’s own twitch in sympathy. “What do you think about that, Laurent?” 

That sounded horrifyingly painful. “Please, brother,” Laurent said, and he was so lost that he was not even sure what he meant. Please do not do that, please do it, please finish, it was all tied up in the tremulous nature of his words. There was a hitch in Auguste’s breath.

With a groan, Auguste spilled on Laurent’s lower back. Auguste teased his fingers through the spend, trailing it over the already heated patches of skin where the belt had stung. Auguste reached a hand around and his fingers trailed wet along Laurent’s cheek. “Clean them,” Auguste said. His voice was still rough.

Laurent closed his eyes but parted his lips. Laurent was so overwhelmed that it was easy to do what Auguste said. Auguste slid his fingers inside Laurent’s mouth. Laurent swiped at them with his tongue, and then Auguste used his other hand to smack Laurent’s bottom, hard, and Laurent squealed and bit down. His hips pressed against the settee and the pressure against his cock was delicious.

Laurent felt dangerously on edge. The pain and the pleasure of Auguste’s touch had merged through his body, and he had been turned on still walking back from Damen’s chambers, even before he had knelt at his brother’s side, and he felt close and desperate.

Auguste took his hand away, and there were teeth marks on his finger.

“That was not very good,” he said. Laurent liked hearing his brother’s voice. He sagged over the chair, lost in a haze of arousal and pain and the familiar warmth of his brother’s scent.

Laurent shuddered. “Auguste,” he said. “I’m so--”

“We had an agreement contingent on you being good,” said Auguste.

Laurent whined. Auguste slide his fingers back inside of Laurent’s hold and unerringly found the place that caused Laurent to whine again. Auguste’s fingers took every tension in his body and centered it in the heat of his hole and in a pressure building in his lower abdomen. “Please, brother,” Laurent begged, and he was sincere now. “Please--”

Auguste bent over and picked up the belt he had dropped again. Laurent was hardly able to process what that meant, and then Auguste had laid a final stripe across him. 

Laurent cried, and flinched away and pleasure coursed through him at the same moment. His whole body spasmed. His back arched, so that he was curling away from Auguste at the same moment that he was reaching for him. Pleasure flooded under his skin. The stripe of the belt felt cold and then hot, and then hotter. His cock jerked as it spilled beneath him, making a sticky mess between his skin and the coarse fabric of the settee.

Auguste sat down next to Laurent on the settee. “Shhh.”

Laurent buried his face against his brother’s leg. For a moment all he could do was breathe heavily. 

“I can’t take any more.”

Auguste stroked his hair. “You have gotten yourself into it, today, little brother.”

Laurent clutched at Auguste’s waist awkwardly. “Don’t hit me again.”

“Don’t give orders to your Prince,” Auguste said, but his tone was gentle. He let Laurent catch his breath for a long moment, still carding his hand through Laurent’s hair. 

There were quiet moments. Laurent felt tears come to his eyes again at the feeling in his buttocks, and blinked them away, concentrating on the feeling of Auguste’s hand tenderly on his face. 

His position on the settee was awkward. Eventually, he said, “Can we go to bed?” His voice was small.

Auguste leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to his lips. “No, Laurent,” he said, and his tone was so gentle that it took Laurent a moment to process the denial. “You have to go show the Akielon what I thought of his present.”


End file.
